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claeys
American Feel and be felt.
milk, what a waste you were my favourite addressing your past Now salvation is in clam chowder and bad moon rising, addressing our past childhood was much Like, a play not a lot has changed At least that's what I wrote On the postcard Addressing my past.
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Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC
you, *********
What I can control And what I cannot we were wonderful then that day a passionate heart afraid of committing detaching my instincts for great joy and great sorrow closely related tugging at my hair
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Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
the epicurist
i daydream of nights i have no recollection of i close my eyes and think of how bright we felt how young and in love we were how easily we had fun building forts, indulging in frito pie spending time with our best friend reggie piecing together saturday nights over breakfast tacos summer left me wanting more.
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Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 10:24 PM UTC
early
right now we sing along our inner monologue clenching eyes, shut tight with fists and childlike gestures
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Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
12.11.12
then we were enemies because I drunkenly opened my mouth I considered Not but of course that is not who I am You went to bed I watched Charlie Chaplin I wanted to **** you was all, But we fought about white privilege I tried to apologise for being a minority.. maybe. And you for Not. We woke up and forgave each Other History huh, and the lies it feeds. Welcome to Texas The sign read.
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Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 4:07 AM UTC
/and
Beside you this small child, follows hides near you they call your name, play with your hair You fell out of And In this panic The look he gave saved you when he was away, you drowned yourself And there, you were safe.
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Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
There
The distance between my green boots And the door The distance between your well ****** mattress And the floor. The distance between your well played guitar And my well played underwear. The distance between your chartreuse chair, your favorite And my favorite painting You made it The distance in beautiful images And the image of me rotting And the image of them squealing.
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Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
Trying.